The Garden of Eden: End of Innocence
by Ripsi
Summary: Leon is called to Spain under command of the Government to save Ashley, but Saddler has plans for Leon and Wesker's daughters. For one last battle, Marisol and Claire must band together to save their families before it is too late.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It's the final part of the trilogy! It's the beginning of the end. I'm also trying to make it a bit funny in some parts so laugh. I now introduce to you, "The Garden of Eden: End of Innocence!"

Disclaimer: I still don't own RE, but I do still own the TGOE trilogy and Marisol and her and Claire's children! I also do not own Froot Loops.

2004

"Sarah!" Claire stared at the broken vase before her, and only wondered how upset Wesker would be when he came home and saw it. There was no point in hiding it or cleaning it up because he would wonder where it went. For about the fifth time, Claire ordered Emily to leave the mess alone until Wesker dealt with his daughter. "Sarah Monette Wesker, get down here now!"

A little redhead at the age of four came down the stairs as slowly as she could, afraid of her punishment. With blue eyes, the child gave her mother a small smile, trying to butter her up. No matter how cute Sarah managed to look, Claire still gave her a stern look, indicating that there was no way she was getting out of this because of a grin and some crocodile tears. "Oh, don't worry," Claire said, hands on her hips, "I'm not gonna punish you." At first, Sarah gave her mother a confused look, and when she realized that she was serious, the child gave a smile of gratitude. "Your father's gonna deal with it."

"Mommy no!" she cried, but Claire only smiled and began walking up the stairs to her room, Sarah's little legs trying to keep up. Too many times had Claire told her daughter to stop hiding her father's things in the vases, but she never listened. This time she hid his sunglasses that he had just bought the other day, and when it came to Wesker's shades, it was a serious matter. What else could Claire expect though? The little girl was a carbon copy of her mother at that age.

As she turned around to watch the child struggle coming up the stairs, her eyes landed on Emily who was once again trying to dispose of the mess. "Emily, no!" Knowing that she was disobeying Claire, the maid gave a nervous smile before walking back into the kitchen, muttering in whatever language she spoke. In four years, Emily had never responded to Claire verbally, and now she wondered if the woman even liked her. She always smiled, even when she was cursing at Claire, at least that is what it sounded like she was doing.

Sarah stuck her lip out, silently pleading with her mother to be more generous, but Claire was sick of making up excuses that she knew Wesker didn't believe. "Someone's gonna have a red butt tonight," Claire teased. She knew this was true since Wesker did not accept nonsense from his daughter. If she was told not to so something and she did it, he had to resort to physical punishment. The lock on the door clicked and Claire sighed and said, "Show time."

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Wesker's head went down as he acknowledged the broken vase in front of the stairs. After taking the sight in, he looked at the smiling Claire and said, "I gave you shopping money Wednesday."

Unable to figure out how he thought she did it, Claire groaned. "I didn't do it." At this, Wesker's head lowered slightly to the child that was on the verge of tears. Instead of yelling, he gestured for her to come to him with his index finger. Wordlessly, Sarah made her way down the stairs, Claire following her. Sighing heavily, Wesker squatted down to his daughter and removed his shades, revealing his red and gold eyes.

Once he felt that she was looking him in the eyes, Wesker began to speak to her. "Is this vase broken?" His voice was its usual calm and deep tone, but there was a hint of sternness in it, showing his child that he was her father, but he had to punish her.

"Yes," she said, tears beginning to stream down her face.

"Why?" Sarah looked down, but he got her to look back up by saying, "Look at me." Wesker did not pay attention to the tears that were now falling from her cheeks, but continued looking into her blue eyes. "Why is it broken?"

"Because I broke it."

"Why did you break it? Did you have a particular reason to break it?"

"No," she answered, fearing what her father would do when he found out the truth.

"Well, why did you break it?"

"I was trying to hide your shades from you," she admitted, now sobbing.

"And why would you do that?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. This was more like a police interrogation, but Claire knew from experience that he meant no harm to their daughter.

"I was just playing."

"And now you see where your practical jokes have gotten you?"

"Yes!" she sobbed. Without another word, Wesker nodded and stood back up, putting his shades back on. Claire was no longer smiling, because the spanking that Sarah was about to get would not be funny in any way unless this was a cartoon.

"Come with me," he said, gently taking his daughter's hand. Sarah threw her mother a pleading glance, but she knew that Claire never stopped Wesker from punishing her. He was not a strict father per se, but he would not tolerate disobedience in his child. He knew that Sarah had been the one breaking the vases, but he did not want to punish her if she did not admit to it, and if he had spoken to anyone like that then they would eventually break down and confess also. Except for one person.

Emily came rushing to Claire with the telephone. With what had just happened, she didn't even hear it ring. Emily stared at the vase and Claire nodded to the compulsive cleaner. Of course, that was her job.

"Hello?"

"¡ Bueno!" It was Marisol. "So, what's been happening?"

"Well, Wesker's about to spank the holy hell out of Sarah.," Claire confessed, walking up the stairs to monitor her daughter's punishment.

"For what this time?"

"She broke another vase."

"Oh, you snitched this time huh?" In the background, she could hear Leon yelling about something. "I'm gonna have to call you back Claire."

"All right, bye." Quickly, Claire hung up and peaked through the doors of her and Wesker's room to spy on them. It always hurt her heart to allow Wesker to do this, but if they did not teach her discipline, then who would? The world was not even this harsh. As he always did, he had Sarah bent over his knee, her pants and panties down and his hand raised to deliver the first lick.

When he gave the first hit, she heard Sarah whimper, and Claire thought of how easy it was for Sarah. She had never been slapped on the face by Wesker. Now that was pain. She was sure that it seemed like forever for her daughter, but to Claire it only took half a minute before her daughter was sobbing with red eyes and cheeks… both sets of cheeks.

After receiving her spanking, Sarah ran from the room, not even paying attention to Claire as she made her way to her own room. When Claire looked back at her husband, he was looking at her also. Smiling, she made her way to him and stared down past the shades into his eyes. "Is she okay?

"She is, my pocket isn't." Four years ago, if someone would have told Claire this is how her life would be, she would have laughed at them and maybe called them insane. Who would have thought that they would be anything like a family at all?

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"Mari, where the hell is my belt?!" For fifteen minutes, Leon had been looking or the belt that had been eluding him all morning. "Ow! Dammit!" As he once again stubbed his toe on the dresser, Marisol placed a bowl of Froot Loops in front of a four year old girl that was almost a mirror image of her mother. People always thought that she was small, but their mother was barely 5'1 so what did they expect?

The little girl already had very long hair that was dark brown because of her father, and she was only a bit lighter than her mother. She had brown eyes, like her mother used to. Every now and then, Marisol would call up Monette's parents, they had actually been rather accepting of who she was and saw the child as what she was: their granddaughter. Leon's parents were not too accepting of Marisol or the child, after not being able to figure out why, she just decided to label them racist. They didn't like French people, and they did not seem fond of how Marisol was teaching her daughter Spanish.

Leon ran into the kitchen, about to yell about his belt still being missing, until he saw it hanging on the back of the chair that he had been sitting at earlier.

"Are you done?" asked a smiling Marisol

"Yeah Papa, you were so fucking loud-"

"Esmeralda Leona Kennedy! Where did you hear that word?" She eyed her daughter suspiciously as she waited for the truth. This child was always doing something over the top.

"From you," she answered, not at all worried about repercussions. The child's attitude matched her mother's. They were both sure of themselves, and Esme had no problem with letting people know how smart she was. Not knowing how to respond, Marisol looked around as though her daughter was lying,

"See, she's just trying to be like mommy."

"No, I don't wanna be like Mama, she's _una enena" _Once again, Marisol's eyes were on her daughter, telling her to stop the insults.

"Someone wants an ass-whupping and it's only 7:30," said Marisol sighing.

"7:30?!" her husband shouted. Once again, he was late. She watched him put his belt and jacket on. Before he rushed out of the door he gave his wife a kiss, making Esme grimace and he gave his daughter a kiss on the cheek. Deciding not to say anything, but to just wait, Marisol leaned against the counter.

The mother and daughter mentally did a countdown from three in their heads and watched Leon slowly walk back into the house. A frown on his face, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "I guess you just found it funny huh?" he asked, genuinely upset at both of them. "It's the weekend!"

"You're yelling Papa," sang Esme, handing her empty bowl to her mother.

"I wouldn't be yelling if you and your 'madre' weren't such smart-asses!" Every other weekend it was the same old rant about how they got their kicks from him worrying and rushing for no reason. He could have been sleeping, or doing something productive with the free time that he had today. Instead, his wife and daughter decided to have a laugh at his expense. "I'm going to bed."

Once they heard the door to the master bedroom slam, the mother and daughter fell into a fight of laughter. Another thing they had in common was their sense of humor. "7:30?!" yelled Marisol, mocking her husband. Esme and Marisol high fived each other about their job well done. "Funny!" she sang, walking to her bedroom to make sure that her husband was all right.

In her head, men were all just sensitive babies and being macho was just a way to feed their ever-growing ego. Once she peeked into the room, she found that her husband had his face buried in a pillow, and that he was only dressed in jogging pants. Grinning, she sat next to him on the bed and placed a cold hand on his back.

He flinched at her icy touch and sat up. "God, are you ever warm?"

"Maybe you can help me in that department," she said lying down and pulling him with her. Caressing his arm, she planted a kiss on his lips, and moved closer to him. "Let's have another baby," she whispered. Once she saw the surprised look on his face, she added, "After you get back from that 'Big mission in Spain.'"

"I don't see why not." Crash! They heard their daughter yell an apology. She had probably knocked over a lamp, but they never worried about her. She was a smart girl, who never seemed to get herself stuck in a situation without having a way out.

Perhaps her being like her mother would help her out of the trouble that she would get herself into. That mouth would certainly get her into the trouble, but she knew that her mother and father would bail her out. So at the end of the day, she would never be alone, and someone would always be there like family should be.

A/N: This chapter was just an introduction to this part. I'm trying to establish where the main characters are in life and I want the family moments to be funny. It reminds me of my family: No subject is taboo at the dinner table, everything is hilarious, and we mess with everyone about everything. Maybe that's why I tell the truth and am straight forward, but everyone else says that I'm mean. No, I just ain't afraid to tell my own friends the truth about themselves. Ahem, sorry, just had a flashback. Anyway, expect humor and review!


	2. Nightmare

A/N: Here we are, chapter two! Well, enjoy and I actually want some constructive criticism .So feel free and don't go too hard; I have a bad temper about almost everything… but don't go too easy either! I like this chapter dude.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of RE, but I own this story, Marisol, Sarah, and Esmeralda.

_Two Weeks Later_

For some reason, the house was quiet, and it actually frightened Claire so much that she got out of bed. Once again, Wesker was not there, he was probably in the basement doing something totally unnecessary. An ominous cloud shed rain over them, and lightening was illuminating the room every now and then. Where was the thunder? Where was Sarah?

Storms normally scared her into her mother's room, or had she somehow missed this storm? No, something was definitely wrong. Claire was one of those people who believed in signs and premonitions, it was something that she had gotten from Marisol, or maybe it came with being a mother. A creak that was never there before sounded as she opened one of the bedroom doors, and down the hallway, she saw Emily with a candle in her hand, a white robe on. The maid gave her an eerie smile before disappearing around the corner.

Emily was never up this late; she worked so hard all day and whenever the chance for a break came along she would take it without arguing. Now completely alert, Claire made her way to the other wing of the house. Silently, she crept to her daughter's room, praying that she was in her bed, asleep and alone in the room. Slowly, she opened the door, her paranoia getting the best of her. The sight of an empty bed caused her eyes to go wide, as thought she was missing some of the picture.

Wordlessly, she jumped onto the bed, groping around for her child. A sound came from the walk-in closet, and her eyes suspiciously leered at it. Not considering anything but her daughter being in there, Claire ran to the door and pulled it open, finding nothing but darkness. Her hand searched the wall for the light switch, and upon finding it, she flicked it on without hesitation or fear of what may have been lurking in the large space. Nothing was in front of her, nothing was hiding behind the many outfits.

"Sarah!" she called out, receiving no answer. Fear caused her lip to quiver, and tears to form in her eyes.

"Claire." It sounded like a whisper, but from whom? Her blue eyes frantically searched the closet for anyone, for anything, but she found nothing. A shadow fell over her, and she turned to have her view blocked by a chest.

"You are an outsider." The voice was coated with a thick accent, like the intruder was Spanish. Even when she looked up, she could not see his face. Why couldn't she see his face, everything about him was shadowed and she felt so weak in comparison to him? It was like her strength was nothing. Slowly, he turned and walked away, only for Leon to take his place.

"Leon, where's Sarah?" she practically begged, ignoring the fact that he was somehow there. He did not answer. "Leon?" His eyes had turned red, like he was not in control of himself. "Le-" His hands gripped her throat tightly, stopping her from completing his name.

She had caught a glimpse of his arm and saw what appeared to be red veins, making their way up. Breathing became difficult, and she could not fight him for some reason. Instead, everything became darker, but she could still see him. Just as she was about to give up, something bright and red illuminated the surrounding area, and then she realized that it was firing rushing towards them. Burning, destroying, she could feel the heat drawing closer-

"Sarah!"

"Mommy?" Claire's breathing was labored, and she could feel beads of sweat on her forehead, but she was cold. "I'm right here." Indeed, her daughter was sitting beside her, trying to calm her mother down. Without thinking, she grabbed the girl into a tight embrace, fearing that someone would take her away.

Sweetly, Sarah asked, "Mommy did you have a bad dream?"

"Yes," Claire sobbed, finding that she was breaking into tears over a dream. This was nothing that she wanted Wesker to see, so for once, she felt fortunate that he was not there. Where did he say he was going? He said something about "Business." That most likely meant another country.

Claire did not feel safe; something was wrong, and even though it was five years ago, the image of Marisol in that coffee shop loomed in her memory. Was she right? Five years was not a long time, and now she could not get it out of her head. That same fear that she had was now haunting Claire, and she had to do what she thought was best for her family.

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Rustling on the floor had disturbed her sleep, which obviously was not that deep. Groaning, Marisol combed her hair from her face with her fingers and turned to look for Leon, who was not where he had been earlier. In their bathroom, she heard the shower running and she rolled her eyes as the rustling sound caught her attention once again. Peeking over the side of the bed, she saw nothing but the cherry oak floor and a pair of Leon's jeans. Unable to remember them doing anything, she frowned and picked them up, only for something to hiss and crawl beneath the bed.

"Did we get a cat?" she asked herself, and jumped to the floor onto her knees. In annoyance, she clicked on the lamp and resumed her search under the bed, unable to see anything still. Blindly, she groped around for anything, eventually grabbing something slimy, but she did not withdraw from it, only pulled it from under the bed as fast as she could. "What the…" It was a beige-gray color and appeared to be a rather large arachnid.

It looked like something from that movie she saw about large, black aliens with slimy skin. She believed the creatures that they used were called "face-huggers" or something like that. Whatever this was, it appeared to be dead; it lied on its back, motionless.

"Leon?" she called, hoping that he understood what was going on. Afraid that more of those things were around, she ran to the bathroom and opened the shower door, only to find that it was empty, and that the water was running for no one. Slowly, she turned off the water and looked around before cautiously making her way to Esme's room. The rustling of cloth caught her attention, but she only began to run to her daughter's room, but there was no Esme. "¿ _Esme, donde estas?_"

No answer, but the sound of robes rustling once again caught her attention. There were very few times in her life that she was afraid, and this was one of them. Not wanting to draw out the moment, she turned and saw someone walking out of the room, their purple robe dragging on the floor behind them. Thinking fast, she the TV remote from Esme's nightstand and threw it down the hall with all of her might. At hearing it hit the wall, she grew confused.

It was almost impossible that she would miss. They didn't duck or make it into another room that quickly, did they? Where was Leon, where was Esme? Determined to find her daughter, she ran throughout the house, finding no one. The den was empty, no one occupied the living room, the kitchen, or the dining room.

It was moments like these that she wished she did not want such a large place. Having nowhere else to look, she went back to the bedroom to pick up the phone, finally feeling that this was a moment of urgency. Just as her finger was about to hit the button, the sound of water falling stopped her. With speed that she had not used in years, she ran into the bathroom to find that the shower was on again. Enraged with the theatrical games, she flung open the sliding door to turn the shower off, but this time the shower was occupied.

Whatever had been eluding her beneath the bed earlier was back up, looking ready to attack. Before she could turn, it had jumped onto her face, holding her in a deadly embrace, one that no one would expect for the creature's size. The hisses it made were unbearable, and after struggling with it for what seemed like minutes, she pulled it off of her face and threw it to the ground, stomping on it violently with her bare feet. It shrieked as she continued her attack, but it was still alive. Thinking quickly, she took her toothbrush from the cup on the vanity and drove it into the arachnid's body over and over again until its screeches were no more.

Her eyes could not leave the sight before her, but when she remembered that her husband and daughter were missing, she stood up on her shaky legs and went back to her room. Once again, she picked up the phone, not knowing whether to call 911 or the Government.

Deciding on 911, she waited for the ring, and a male voice was on the other line. "911 what's your emergency?" That voice, the dying, French accent was subtle, but it was something that Marisol could never miss. "Hello"? It was then that she realized that the voice was not coming from the receiver, but from behind her.

The cordless phone fell to the ground with a clatter, and she turned with fear evident on her face. As Spencer's face came into view, she let out an ear-piercing scream. His hand covered her mouth, keeping her quiet.

"Hello, sweetheart," he breathed, looking at her hungrily. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek as he backed her up into the bed, where he got onto her. His hand was removed from her mouth as she stopped trying to scream. She didn't even struggle, because she knew that it would be a pointless fight. "God, how I've missed you."

Shuddering beneath him, she heard his breathing change drastically, as though he was enjoying her fear. So many times had she been in this position, so many times had she been helpless against him. Silently, she pleaded that he not put her through this again, that he just let her live a peaceful life with the man that she loved.

"You're coming back with me," he whispered into her ear. Once again, she let out a scream of protest, flailing her arms in all directions, trying to get him off of her.

"Marisol, be still!" Daring to open her eyes, she was met with the sight of Leon, his face red and scratched. "No more midnight snacks!" he shouted.

"Wha-?" she started, only to be interrupted by Esme.

"Ew! Lock your door when you do that!" she yelled, running back to her room in fear that she may have just seen her parents "having relations." Leon gave a heavy sigh as he watched his wife reach for the phone. Just as she started dialing, the phone rang, causing both of them to scream in surprise.

"Dammit!" he yelled, going into the bathroom to splash his face with water.

"Hello?" she asked shakily. "Claire! Yeah- no. What? _Now_? No, no, it's ok. Yeah. All right."

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Playing with the sleeves of her jacket, Marisol watched Esme play on the tire swing that hung from the tall oak in the front yard. Behind her, she could feel Leon staring at her from the dining room window. After last night, even she was worried about herself. Several cars passed by before she spotted a silver Escalade that slowed down as it reached the driveway. A smile on her face, Esme jumped from the tire and jumped excitedly as the car stopped and another little girl ran out of it.

"Sarah!" she cried happily as the red haired girl embraced her. Marisol watched the two run around the house to play in the backyard, and then her attention fell on the red haired woman that had just locked the car. Claire's puffy eyes were met with sympathy from Marisol's gray ones. Not saying a word, Marisol embraced her friend, whispering calming words into her ear as she sobbed onto her shoulder. Her own eyes beginning to tear up, she ushered Claire to the front door of her home.

Once inside, they sat at the kitchen counter, watching their daughters swing while they drank cappuccinos. Leon had served them, and now poured some coffee for himself, eying the two women with interest. After learning that Claire had come here because of a dream, he felt that he had something to be worried about.

Marisol tucked her long bangs behind her ear and took a sip of her beverage before asking, "Where's Wesker?"

"I don't know. Probably in Europe somewhere," she said, licking her lips. Leon sat across from them and silently drank his coffee. "He's been quite busy lately and I called him. He said for me to just stay here until he got back."

"That'll take weeks," said Marisol, and she bit her bottom lip in thought.

"Tell us about this dream that had you all shook up," said Leon, interested in hearing what made her want to take off with her child in the middle of the night. Also, he was not too happy to be having a conversation about Wesker.

Claire frowned at first, trying to remember what happened. "I woke up and Wesker and Sarah were missing. I went in her closet and this guy that was like seven feet was there… And then you were there Leon." Seeming to be more interested, Leon leaned forward, showing that he was listening. "You were choking me, like you were controlled, and then there was an explosion. Oh! The guy said something like, 'You are an outsider.' What about your dream Marisol?"

"Leon and Esme were both missing. There was this 'face-hugger' thing and a man… he was in a purple robe. Then I called 911, but the man that was talking wasn't on the phone, he was behind me. It was Spencer and he tried to… Yeah."

"They're just dreams," groaned Leon, rubbing his temples.

"Excuse me if it's in me and Monette's blood to take dreams seriously," snapped Marisol, before taking another sip of her drink. Behind Leon, she saw the girls still swinging, seeing who could jump off farther. Marisol saw Claire staring at the kids, afraid that they would get hurt. "Don't worry, they're strong. The other day Esme kicked a Doberman in the ribs and managed to bruise 'em." Claire gave her a wide-eyed look, but she told her how the dog had been growling at her.

Worry for her daughter was the main reason that she came here. She had forgotten that her child could defend herself quite well, but she would never agree that there was such a thing as too much protection for her child. However far she had to go was never to far, and she would be damned if someone took her away. God have mercy on anyone who tried to take her.

A/N: It's shorter than I planned on making it, but I'm pretty sleepy right now. So give me reviews and I'll give you… more chapters! Peace.


	3. Crazy

A/N: It's been so long. Sorry. I have a new puppy that is nothing but trouble, and I've been having psycho ex issues along with writer's block for this story and my Inuyasha story. Of course, I've had writer's block for the latter for a few months. In addition, my depression has been bothering me every other day rather than every other week. So, it's pretty bad and busy cause I try to clean when I'm about to have an episode AND I just found out that eventually I'm gonna get glaucoma. Well, here we go. Oh, and the parts with Claire and Marisol are super-short since someone's been missing Wesker. wink

Disclaimer: I don't own RE, but I own Marisol, Sara, and Esme… and this fic of course!

Quiet days at the park had been boring to Marisol, until Claire moved in with her. Now she had someone to talk to as her daughter played with someone. Of course, the conversation would not be a happy one or about normal problems. Come on, when were they ever allowed the luxury of normalcy? Legs crossed, Marisol turned to her friend that sat next to her on the green bench, her face holding a genuine smile.

"Did you talk to Wesker last night?" she asked, making Claire smile back. Who would have thought that they would not have killed each other by now?

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she nodded. "He's in Europe, but he'll be back soon." In Wesker's language, "soon" meant that it would take almost a month for him to finish whatever he was doing, but to Claire, it never mattered, because she actually tried to make every moment that he was home last. In the distance, she saw a bird flying through the air, probably catching insects. "I hope he's ok."

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A bare desk held a computer and nothing more, no folders, no pictures, and nothing that proved its owner had a life outside of this place. That was for the best though, for if anyone got too close to him on a personal basis then that could spell trouble for his family. Of course, the only person that Wesker saw as a threat was Marisol, and even though he was not too sure about Spencer still being alive, he never counted him into the equation. Obviously, his creation was stronger than he was; he hid behind her. Why was he even thinking about them?

His family was safe from danger even when he was not around. The name Albert Wesker was no joke and by no means was it to ever be toyed with. A small knock on the door brought him back from his thoughts and a small woman walked in. Once again, his eyes were playing tricks on him, for it was someone from his past. If this were a few years ago, he would have asked if it was Spencer, but he knew that it was only his imagination.

No, it wasn't. He was just going insane.

"Well, hello, hello, hello." Slowly, the woman took a seat on his desk, holding a small black diary up to her face with mild interest upon it. She knew everything there was to know; after all, death gave you no limits. "I'm a ghost, and no you're not going crazy."

"You're not a ghost, Monette. Just tell me how bad it is." Wesker knew that he could no longer lie to himself. He needed to contact Birkin; something was wrong with him and it may have had something to do with the virus, which he infected himself with.

Closing the book and setting it down on the desk, she sighed and tossed her hair behind her. "It's not so bad," she cooed, hopping off the desk and walking around to him. Even though it wasn't real to anyone else but him, he felt the back of her hand caress his cool cheek, the scent of her skin intoxicated him just as it used to. "Don't you think Claire would mind?" she teased, a grin on her face. He was crazy and there was no longer anything to disprove that.

How was he going home to Claire, making love to her, and yet while was away he was fantasizing of his dead first wife? Maybe he really was sick, and Chris and the others just knew this all along.

"You want me to go," she said, finding out from looking into his eyes. Well, being a projection of his mind gave her access to it, but he could make her do whatever he pleased. After all, this was his delusion.

"No," he whispered to the figment of his imagination, sounding almost as though he was pleading.

Her hand went past him, and came back with a black receiver in it, holding it up to his confused face. "Get some help," she whispered to him, and he took it while allowing her to dial a number. Without another word, she sat on the desk, right in front of him while he listened to the phone ring, once, twice, three times.

A sleepy voice answered, a voice that he hadn't heard in two months. "Who is this?"

"Wesker," he answered, eyes still on the smiling Monette. She possessed something that Marisol did not, and that was sanity. That is why he did not leave Claire and get rid of Leon a long time ago.

"Sherry! Tell you're boyfriends to stop calling this late!" he yelled, his mouth away from the receiver. "She's asleep," he said, clearly incoherent.

"Birkin!" he said in his stern voice, and that seemed to catch his attention.

"Wesker!" he said in realization, and he actually sounded a bit happy that he had called. Monette, or whatever she was, crossed her legs, and she smoothed back some of Wesker's hair the way she used to when she was alive. "What is it that you need?"

"Information." For a moment, he paused, looking at his late wife with a look of uncertainty. That was a look that rarely came about his handsome face, but pride could not get the best of him at such an important moment, such a crucial moment. "Is there a possibility that something was wrong with the virus that you gave me?" Birkin's end went silent, and Wesker knew that he had no idea if that was even a possibility.

"Wesker…" After they found out that he was alive, it seemed that Birkin was set for change. He was apologetic, a caring father, and even a concerned friend. "Marisol has been asking the same thing." Now that answer shocked him. "It has got to be something wrong with the Tyrant virus, a glitch or something," he muttered to himself mostly.

Monette was staring at Wesker now, her head cocked to the side, interested in what Birkin had just said. "Ooh. Someone screwed up in the lab. Maybe that explains the aggressiveness found in Tyrants."

As Birkin spoke, Monette's spoken thoughts became background audio. "If it is as important as you think, you'll come here to see me immediately." Behind his shades, Wesker's eyes met Monette's, and he found himself agreeing. This was not healthy, and even though he would miss her, this could not go on any longer if he was to succeed with his plan.

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"All right Claire, I need to ask you a serious question." Reluctantly, Claire peeled the sheet from over her head at the sound of Leon's voice. What she did not expect was for him to be sitting there, staring right in her face. Shocked, she jumped up, almost rolling out of the bed as she tried to get into a more comfortable position to talk with him. "Is it the weekend?"

Expecting something direr, she shook her head, wondering when the bad news would be delivered; she was so used to it.

Sighing, he stood up. "Thanks. Trying to fool me," he muttered to himself as he fixed his tie.

Even though Claire liked being here, she still thought of the inhabitants as crazy. Suddenly, the sound of helicopters and grenades boomed with men yelling orders. At the sound of Sara and Esme screaming, she jumped up from her bed and ran into the den to find that they were watching a war movie.

"Um… Marisol?" she asked, turning her head to see her friend kissing her husband bye.

"Hm?" she asked, as she reluctantly ended the kiss. "We'll finish that up later," she said before Leon left out the door. "What's going on?" she asked her red-haired friend after turning the television down.

"I heard you talking last night. Are you having an affair?"

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"Do you love me, Wesker?" Monette's voice was sweet, and almost childlike as she asked Wesker questions and caressed his cheek. They laid there together on the only bed on the jet, smiling at one another, while Wesker dreamed a world of "what-ifs".

"I'll always love you," he replied, feeling quite out of character.

"Prove it," she said, looking dead serious. Wesker had no idea how to go about this, but this only proved that he needed help even more now. Hallucinations were not initially included in the packet of immortality. As he brought his face to hers, she knew that he was so far gone that help would not be enough. Her lips were the same, her body moved the same, and he knew that even though she was just a memory, she was still the perfect memory.

Then it was gone, the feeling of her lips against his, the way her body molded itself into his. Over the intercom, the pilot announced their arrival in Juneau, and Wesker hated that the time had gone by so fast. Groaning, he sat up and grabbed his cell phone; Claire was probably worrying the red out of her hair. After two rings, she answered, sounding relieved. Did she really expect him to be in trouble?

"What's going on?" she asked, seeming to be getting at something else.

"I decided to make a stop in Juneau," he informed her. Claire understood that he was there to see Birkin and Sherry, but she did not understand why. Knowing that it was best to keep their personal life and his business life separate, she dismissed questioning why and instead sighed. "How are you and Sara?"

"We're surviving. I think… I think Marisol's losing it."

His hand tightened on the cell phone and he took a deep breath. Maybe she should come too- no, not while he was there. "Why do you say that?" he asked, fearing that what Birkin said had been true.

"She's been… kind of seeing dead people." At this, his eyes narrowed. "She says that they're not ghosts or anything, but that they're hallucinations. Well, tell Sherry and Birkin that I said hi. I gotta go; Sara and Esme are terrorizing the neighbors. I love you."

"I love you too, Claire." He did not snap the phone closed until he heard Claire hang up, but he still did not put it down. This was unsettling, and it seemed like this was not something that Birkin could fix; the damage had been done.

Wesker was not at all surprised that Birkin had picked a rather large house to stay in. After all, the money could not just sit in the bank as it had been doing before. When Wesker saw his old colleague, he did something that he had never done before: Birkin hugged him. It was the kind of hug that two men shared when they hadn't seen each other in a while, and hug that showed respect. Birkin's mouth had just opened to speak, but a young blonde came rushing down to them.

"Wesker!" she shouted, before embracing him, her arms tight as irons around his waist. It was Sherry, and she had grown into a beautiful young woman. Once he had taken her features in, Wesker could see that she favored Alexia now, sharing that beauty that her mother had once thought was exclusive only to herself and Veronica. Her blonde hair flowed down her back, and her full lips were pink and in a smile that could bring any Tyrant down. Along with the age and beauty, she had also gained the teenage curves that made Wesker no longer see her as a little girl, but as a woman.

"Hello, Miss Birkin," he greeted formally, the smile on his face showing that he was teasing her with the memories of what he used to call her.

Birkin cleared his throat, and turned to his daughter. "We require privacy Sherry. You may come back later and we shall all speak together, but right now…" After he trailed off, she understood immediately, and nodded before going off through a door.

"Have you figured anything out yet?" Wesker asked, actually worried about himself.

"Wesker," Birkin started, "I think we may need to sit down. Because I don't know what to do." Then it hit him, that his fate was actually up in the air, and this time nothing could save him. Not even the man who made him what he was.

A/N: It's short and I apologize for the wait, I really do. Find it in your hearts to send me reviews though.


	4. Secrets Are to Stay Secret

A/N: Wow, its been a WHILE. Forgot where I left off. I guess I just missed this one. When I uploaded this to the site it took out the elipses and apostrophes, so if I missed anything, I am sorry.

Disclaimer: I dont own RE, but I own this fic, Marisol, the children and any other character I created.

Marisol's voice floated through the air, Claire had to strain to hear the relaxing sound, but she did not wish to allow her insecurity to become so apparent. Truthfully, she was looking for what she could not be to her daughter. That woman was amazing; she had left Umbrellas ranks, and became the mother of their enemy's child. It was all hard to believe that she had left the "bad" side and yet Claire Redfield, sister of Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes himself, was the bride of the man who stood right next to the definition of evil. Well, he was only evil in everyone else's eyes.

To Sarah he was a wonderful father, yet his absence was unbearable to the young child, it was even unbearable to Claire. It felt like abandonment a lot of the time and Claire would not put it past her husband to one day decide to leave, without their daughter. When he stared off into space while they were all together she was wondering if he was thinking of a life in which he was not tied down. He told he loved her but not as often as she would like to hear it, so she just started assuming that it was a part of his character.

Still, his distance from his family was creating a very noticeable rift between them, but at the end of the day when she looked into her husband's eyes, Claire saw how apologetic he was for this, and she also saw something that always made her want to break down upon witnessing it: exhaustion. It reminded her that they were both still susceptible to even a few of the most pathetic positions in life. Something had been bothering him though for the past few weeks, and he refused to talk about it with her. There was someone else though, she knew that much. It was not an affair, but he was talking to someone about these problems, well, he was trying to; Claire would walk in and he'd slam the phone down, probably out of embarrassment.

She knew what she had been signing up for when she said, "I do," but she never expected for her husband to become so touchy. They trusted each other, but even though this was true, they still kept a lot to themselves. Claire figured that Wesker did it for security purposes, while she only did it to hopefully piss him off until his curiosity peaked and he could no longer turn a blind eye to her troubles. A part of her argued this plot though; he had so much to deal with, and a lot of those problems came from trying to keep his _abnormal _family safe. It was too late to go back now though; if Claire had wanted a close-to-normal life, she should have never run off with her former captor.

_Well, now I know Chris wasnt warning me about boys because of the "other things." Love actually does hurt._"Claire?" Marisol had distracted her from folding clothes. Apparently the girls had fallen asleep, a feat Claire wished to be able to someday accomplish when she had housework to finish at 8:30 PM.

Pasting on a grin she sighed, "Thank you so much."

"No problem." From the look on her face, Claire could see that her friend was there for the unfinished business. The accusation must have hurt her, but she would never show it.

Tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, Claire gave another sigh and looked into gray eyes. "I didnt mean to sound so-"

"The person I was talking to... Its Spencer." She did not expect it to come out that way, so easily, but Marisol was really never one for beating around the bush. What would be the point of starting now?

Looking worried, Claire pulled her down next to her and tried to speak, but no words could be found to express the sympathy she now felt for her friend. "Wh- How? Wait, what?" In the past, she could have seen her as a loon, but now, after all they had been through together, and she could hardly even recall all the bad they encountered.

Marisol seemed just as tongue-tied as Claire; she stared at the floor and then back up at her, searching her mind for the right words to use before speaking on the matter. "I have these hallucinations" As soon as the words were out, Claire could tell that she felt a lot better, but there was more to the story than this. From her behavior, the most secret parts would stay hidden with her. Now, Claire was really tired of all these hidden emotions and obstacles; she was taking it from Wesker, but since they were friends, Claire thought she and Marisol could actually talk these things out.

Sensing Claires disappointment from her vague explanation, she picked up some of the girls pajamas and began helping with the folding. A fake smile was the best she could do right now, and Claire only thought that she wanted to know the truth. With everything that was going on, secrets were now the best way to go.

* * *

It felt strange, -staying in Birkins house that is- doing nothing for the time being. Well, right now he was staring at his cell phone, contemplating whether or not to answer the incoming call. While he was seeing his dead wife was it wise to answer a phone call coming from her clone, but when he remembered that they were both Tyrants, that changed his train of thought completely. What if she had been experiencing the same problems that he had been having, and if that were the case then who was her visitor? Curiosity getting the best of him, he flipped open his phone and accepted the call.

"Yes Mrs. Kennedy?" It actually stung his tongue to call her by her married name. A woman who was the product of his late wife, no matter how abhorrent her origins, deserved so much more than that government lap dog as a spouse. Then again, if he was so in love with Claire why should it matter? It didnt, it just irked him, or at least that is what he told himself to lessen his anger.

"You're with Birkin."

"Of course. Why are you calling?"

"..."

Had he been fortunate enough to escape whatever was going wrong within him, he would have smirked, but at this moment his luck was refusing to extend so far. This was something they would probably have to get through together, but Claire could not find that out. No, for if she knew the specifics, she would insist on dragging their daughter all the way up to Alaska to monitor not his problem, but him and Marisol. Claire was a woman who had insecurities deeply rooted within her that had no purpose to be there, but they were there, and since she was a woman there was no hope in them going away.

"Monette, dear, do not waste my..."

"Glad you caught yourself. I think were having the same problem." She informed him that she was suffering just as he, except he was suffering from a lovely dream while she was helpless at the hands of a walking nightmare. "Here's the thing: I dont think I can leave your wife alone, mainly because she wont let me."

Wesker became silent as he tried to come up with something that Marisol could use to keep Claire put. Then he remembered how she wanted nothing to do with Umbrella if she could help it, and in this case, she could save herself plenty of grief by declining to meet with an employee. "Tell her youll be seeing an old friend. That should turn her off to your little trip."

He could hear the smirk in her voice as she said, "I thought you may have been jubilant at the thought of having your wife to keep you warm up there." His face became a frown when he thought of the deception, but he told himself that it was for the best. If Claire were with him he would never get any work done, zero problems would be solved, and she probably drive him insane with her insecurities. Right now, he did not wish to deal with her mood swings, nor was he in a tolerable enough disposition to put up with Sarahs shenanigans. If he could not handle what used to be simple task of disciplining his mind then how could he possibly accurately discipline his child?

"Just stick to that story Mrs. Kennedy and get here as soon as your schedule shall permit."

"What about Esme?"

"It would be quite out of character for you to leave her. And she is a perceptive child, is she not? Your husband will protest, but I have confidence that she will not speak of my presence here."

_You're only saying that because she's basically Monette's child._

Wesker pushed that thought into the back of his mind, refusing to hear such a thing. He was simply trying to help an old friend, but whatever was wrong with him was set on manipulating the situation further until it became an unfavorable one. This would not happen. Albert Wesker did not lose.

A/N: This is very short but I said I would update this fic and I finally kept a promise. So please, please, please review!


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